Bluebells are blossoming,
Dotting the ever-so greens with blue.
The sky reflects the blues on the ground
Or perhaps it’s gray with raindrops?
Someone’s out there,
Walking the trodden path
Talking to the quietness of nature
Being at one with the greens and blues
Explosions of yellow, here and there,
Students smile at those daffodils.
Allurement of the stone walls,
Students race toward the barrack.
Sitting at the edge of the
Mile of thrill and wonder.
The castle, nestled in greens, looks like home
I wonder, oh I wonder:
How is my castle, my home?
A year ago, it was Easter Sunday. I went to church, had a final (which I passed!), and yet I was a bit nostalgic. My days in England were dwindling, there were only three more days. I was going to miss England and the manor (coughcoughcastlecough) that quickly became home. I was going to miss the friends that I had made during those fifteen weeks. Fast forward to a year later, I miss England, the manor [read: castle] that became home, and the friendships that were formed. My prediction came true. I am always going to miss Harlaxton. I do, from time to time, wonder what the weather is like (52 degrees Fahrenheit, after midnight – thank you, weather app) and what the fields and woods are like? Is anything in bloom already? In my nineteen years, I have called many places home. Places I may never see again, but dreams to visit again. Harlaxton is one of my homes, and I really, really hope/wish/dream that I will revisit that manor house.